Page 41 of Calico Descending

His eyes shoot to mine, and it’s then I remember the warning, but it doesn’t matter. I’d welcome the weight of him on top of me, even if it crushed me. He doesn’t move, though, but looks at me, expectantly, for a moment. When I don’t say anything, he pushes up from the floor and hobbles across the room, swiping up a pitcher from a small table beyond the foot of the bed. My mouth puckers at the sight of him pouring water into a cup.

With a slight limp, he returns to my side, and with one big palm cupping the back of my head, he tips the water into my mouth. It dribbles out of the corner of my lips as I guzzle it back.

When he lowers the cup, his stormy gray eyes seem to swirl with something else. A sort of hunger that goes beyond food, or water. Hand still plastered to the back of my head, he drags my face to his, and the moment his lips slant over mine, the butterflies in my belly explode.

His lips taste like spice and metal—a delicious flavor that I want to devour.

The kiss begins slow and lazy, tongues exploring lips, breath mingling, soft moans trapped behind sealed mouths.

His grip of my neck grows tighter, tongues become teeth, breaths fervent and shaky, and his moan turns to a growl. A violent storm that begins as a gentle rain and sweeps over me, bringing thunder and lightning.

The sudden need I have for him is flames in my blood. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he lifts me from the bed to his lap, where he seats himself against the wall.

Clawing at his scalp, I devour the taste that has me ravenous for more. More of him. Legs stretched over his massive thighs, I feel his erection pressed against my core. It’s far bigger than the bulge in Dean’s slacks.

Dean.

I break the kiss, turning my head to the side, and frown at the memory.

“Are you okay?” The sound of Valdys’s strong, but gentle, voice pushes those thoughts away, and my mind snaps to earlier, when I watched him fall through the ceiling like a God coming to save me.

I give a nod and press myself against his bulge, observing the way his head tips back, eyes heavy and hungry. It’s as Roz described. Almost beautiful to see, the way he responds to touch this way. I run my fingertips over a scar along his jaw and lip, and the one above the slave band at his throat, taking in their jagged, messy stitchings. Life gave him these scars, but for some strange reason, I suddenly want to be the one who heals them. I want to crawl inside his darkness and illuminate the parts that have never felt the warmth of the light.

Pressing my lips to his once more, I steal his breath, taking it into my body, and when his big arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, I don’t want him to let me go.

His hands are everywhere—across my back, my ribs, my thighs—as if seeking out every inch of my flesh.

I realize he’s my safety, and his kiss is my salvation in this place.

There’s a silent story behind these lips, one of suffering and agony, one I yearn to know, while he savors this moment between us, treating the connection with such reverence, I wonder if he’s ever kissed, at all.

The door clicks open, but Valdys doesn’t release me. He doesn’t break his kiss, nor pause for air. It’s as if he’s lapping up as much of it as he can before I’m taken away.

Only when the soldiers slip their hands beneath my arms and pull me off his lap, does he inhale a breath on a lurch toward me, but he’s greeted by the pointed end of a spear at his throat.

Jaw tight, he doesn’t fight them, as they lead me out of his cell.

I keep my eyes on his until I’m almost out of the room, and the stormy gray tells me everything I need to know.

That if I said the word, he would kill every soldier in this room.

For me.

Chapter 21

When a species begins to die, there becomes an innate urgency to repopulate. To carry their genes into the next generation. They become aggressive. Irrational. Determined.

This is the world I live in. One decimated by disease, to the extent that the living, healthy population has been thinned to small groups of survivors. And the females in those small groups become breeders. It’s why girls menstruate as early as ten years old nowadays, in Mother Nature’s desperate attempt to save our species.

As much as I might deny it, biologically, there’s a reason I’m attracted to Valdys. Strong. Formidable. Virile. He would ensure my survival, and our children would grow to be strong, as well. I know this is why I yearn for him more than ever now. There’s a constant flutter in my chest at the thought of him, and my mouth waters when I imagine that spicy, metallic taste on my tongue. It’s been two days since I last saw him, since I kissed him and felt his hands on my body.

Last night, I dreamed of him and awoke in cold sweats, with my thighs burning, trembling as if from some inexplicable sickness.

Strange as it is, I can understand the cravings--the vacuous hole inside of me that longs to be filled. What I can’t explain is the ache in my belly that won’t subside--the tight, cramping sensation that has me doubled over, as I lie on a gurney, arm banded over my stomach. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

“It’s estrus.” Adjusting his thin-rimmed black glasses, Doctor Tims, a stoic and humorless man, pulls a chair up beside the bed. “You’re in heat.”

“Heat? What does that mean?”

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